The Fantasy of Eric Northman
by russianspy
Summary: Eric Northman wants you, and you have him. He may drain you or leave you, or maybe use you for a little while, or perhaps actually keep you. You hope for the last, but you will most certainly take what you can get. Rated M for Sex. One Shot staring YOU. Please just enjoy it.


**Decided to take a small break from my other fan fic Hunter's Blood Part II. I wanted to write a fantasy...about Eric. If you enjoy this, check out my other stuff. I promise Eric won't disappoint you there either. **

**Written in second person. I'm certain every girl has this dream, or boy. Please just enjoy it. If you'd be more vicious with him, well, I'm sorry. I think anyone would be just as powerless with the wonderful Eric Northman.**

**Rated M for a reason.**

...

It's probably, most definitely, a dream. But does it matter? No. He is there and it feels real. He feels real. Looks real. Every inch of him, every detail. His face is smooth and flawless, glows in the moonlight that's coming through your window. Chiseled facial perfection.

Your first Swede, perhaps.

A few strands of his blond hair fall across his forehead. It catches your eye for a moment. You watch the hair settle, hanging, and then return to his clear gaze. He stares at you intensely, lips parted. You cannot move. Well, you can, but you think you can't. He has transfixed you. Perhaps glamoured you. Who gives a fuck?

He hovers over you, and even if you wanted to get out from under him, he wouldn't let you. Because as he stares down at you, you little thing, he hears, feels, sees your blood thumping. But he also wants to give you want you want because you want it so badly. And he can tell.

Oh God.

Eric Northman's unfathomable eyes appear as though they want to devour you. And you don't care why. It doesn't matter why it's you, why he chose you—if he's going to drain you and leave you, or maybe use you for a little while, or perhaps actually keep you. You hope for the last, but you will most certainly take what you can get.

You glance at his teeth, wonder when you will see his fangs. You want to see them, want to feel them.

His expanse of chest and biceps shield you like a protective barrier against the darkness of your room, against all those forces you thought existed when you were a child, and sometimes perhaps still do because the dark plays tricks. Arms braced on either side of you, you feel the light chill from his muscles. You want to touch them but you don't move, still.

You just can't.

"Are you afraid?" he asks.

You want to say yes, but you don't and that makes you pause. It tells him that you are in fact afraid, but you're not full of the typical fear one usually experiences. You're a bundle of excited nerves. You are afraid, but you want him so terribly.

"No." You barely make the sound.

And he startles you with movement.

You two had stared at each other for what seemed like eternity. You jump slightly. He leans in, but instead of kissing you as you gasp and freeze, he lingers over your mouth, just millimeters. He has no breath, but you can smell him. A mixture of cologne and a sweet smell—all vampires seem to have it. Age, wisdom, and allure.

He grins. His voice tickles you, rolls down your cheek and under your jaw, like a feather. You part your mouth.

"Yes you are," he says softly.

You've been wet for a while, better believe it. You feel it between your legs. You may just be one step away from the fireworks without any physical encouragement, but you have to keep it together.

"I can hear your pulse." He places a sweet kiss on your lips. You barely have a chance to move your own before he leaves yours. You feel a tinge disappointment for a second before moves to your neck.

Your eyes close, you instinctively move your head in the opposite direction. You let out a breath. Oh this is what you have been waiting for. He kisses you again, softly, then once more, and follows the delicate thumping of your artery, your soft neck. Rolls of goosebumps come over you. The bubbling in your stomach is maddening. It churns in your core, spreads downwards between your legs.

When you realize, however, that he is lingering on your pulse, your breath hitches a little and your eyes shoot open. He stops, notices. Again you feel disappointment, but his mouth is a faction above your skin, just under your jaw.

"Is it going to hurt?" you can't help but ask.

"Not the way I do it," he replies at once. And the smoothness, the certainty of the promise calms you—mostly.

Because you're still nervous. He rises. And as he does so, you have no idea what he is going to do. Did he change his mind? He moves so that he can see you again. He stares at you with the same intensity as before. His eyes absorb you. You know that he is still going to devour you. He isn't going anywhere.

"Let me help you relax." His voice has grown so husky that his accent is thicker, and it makes your breath hitch. "Is…that all right with you?"

He knows very well what effect he has on you, and he enjoys your reaction. And he especially enjoys the fact that he is in total control. You still haven't moved much. But it doesn't matter.

You nod. He smiles.

He begins to lift his hand. You watch it without blinking. You wonder frantically in the few seconds where he is going to put it on you. But he doesn't put it anywhere, not yet, anyway. He takes two fingers and puts them into his mouth, slowly, wets them.

Then as he's bracing himself with his other arm, his hand travels downward. The tips of his fingers tease you on purpose, grazing the surface of your stomach. You shiver. Then they float over your thigh, trail over your underwear. You hold your breath.

Like a deft, gentle spider, his fingers sneak between your thighs, urge you to spread them. You do. You didn't hesitate there. Neither does he, but he is gentle. He carefully pulls aside your underwear, finds you. You're soaking. He enters you. You arch your back. Moan.

His fingers are long, cold—but in the most pleasant way possible—and they feel so good as he moves them. He knows exactly where to press, gentle massaging, knows exactly what to do to you as if he's been with you before. He's an expert. You breathe shallower, faster, tilt your head back, allow yourself to feel everything.

And now he spares not one more moment.

Eric's other hand goes to the edge of your shirt, travels upwards, and glides against your stomach. More chills pass through you. You are in ecstasy. He grabs your breast, one of the things you've wanted him to do. And he lifts your shirt. You're almost writhing by now. Your breasts are exposed, your nipples. He leans towards the one he has claimed and devours it with his mouth, sucks on it. And all the while, he is still expertly maneuvering his fingers. Faster and faster, then suddenly slower and deliberate. Back and forth.

You're about to come. It didn't take long, but he doesn't seem to mind. You start to move your hips. He follows your movement with his arm. His tongue plays with your nipple.

Your eyes are closed, your neck stretched backwards. He watches your face, watches you contort it, listens to your reactions, your moans, your groans, your whines. He enjoys what he is making you do. You know why, too. It makes him feel powerful. You are weak at the moment, but you know what, it's all right. You want him to overpower you like this.

Your hips rise and lower faster. You feel it bubbling, the feeling, feel it grow. You need to not restrain yourself but completely give in.

"I-I-" you somehow say.

Eric releases your nipple, lets go of your breast, rises slightly. You're coming. It a miraculous wave as your body rolls. He milks it. Gingerly, you look at him. You want to tell him how sexy he is, while he is manipulating you like this. You can't. You have no words.

"You are mine tonight," he says.

You reach towards him. You need to grab him. You cry out. You need to fucking touch him. The next moment happens in the matter of a second. He leans back towards you, his teeth clicking, extending, you arms go around him. His back is so strong and firm. His hand between your leg never leaves. He shoves your head to the side with his face, opens his mouth.

"Eric," you breathe. You wanted to say his name for so long.

He's going to do it. He's going to do it right now. You feel his teeth, so smooth and sharp, graze your neck. You're holding onto him tightly. You're awash with wonderful, buzzing frenzy.

You're still pumping, so is he. His other arm is around you, squeezes you and then—

He bites you. His teeth plunge into you. It does hurt. It's like two needles plunging straight down, two thick needles, breaking your skin. Oh but that pain doesn't last. He begins to suck at once. You feel your own warmth, both below and above. Blood tears down your shoulder, down your clavicle, onto your breast. It's so warm, almost hot.

And his tongue laps it up and makes you feel the wave again.

Holy. Shit.

Your eyes droop, drift. You close them and completely, utterly slacken. You don't move a muscle.

You wonder if you have died.

* * *

**Please review! I wanna know what you think! Also, I can write more of these. But I will need suggestions!  
**


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